


By the Devil's Law

by duplicity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (maybe), Action/Adventure, Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Auror Harry Potter, Black Markets, Conspiracy, Corruption, Drama, Enemies to Lovers, Kidnapping, M/M, Magic and Science, Manipulation, Mob Boss Tom Riddle, Obsessive Behavior, Organ Theft, Organized Crime, Politics, Sexual Content, Violence, Worldbuilding, attempts to sugar daddy that are bluntly refused, horny bastard behaviour, mafia, the trope of working against a common enemy, tom's gigantic ego as a featured plot point, will all this happen? i will try my best to include it all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:40:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28869441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duplicity/pseuds/duplicity
Summary: Junior Auror Harry Potter has been investigating corruption at the highest levels of government in the Ministry of Magic. If his suspicions are correct, what he stands to uncover may dismantle the entire governing body of magical Britain for decades to come.So when Harry wakes up in a hospital room with a strange man, he's certain it must be the work of Lucius Malfoy. At least, until his mysterious captor introduces himself as Tom Riddle, the illusive Muggle crime boss known as Voldemort.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 59
Kudos: 176





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThePinkJellyfish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePinkJellyfish/gifts), [Sakuragane_San](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sakuragane_San/gifts).



> the title of this story is from 'criminal' by britney spears because THAT SHIT SLAPS, and also because i think it's hilarious.
> 
> thank you to Coral for contributing to my never-ending list of WIPs with this AU idea, and also to Matthew for brainstorming ideas for this crack-y fic that somehow grew a fuckton of plot really quickly.
> 
> if this stays anywhere in the 20k-30k range, trust me, no one will be more surprised than yours truly.

**—Sunday, 2:47 AM**

In his flat, Harry had a very important folder buried underneath layers and layers of protective spells. This folder was kept in a lock box that opened only to him. Opening this box required the touch of his holly and phoenix feather wand, a non-verbal password that he changed on a weekly basis, and a charmed key that he kept on his person at all times.

This folder contained what little evidence he had been able to gather on corruption in the Ministry. Specifically, corruption involving Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge and Lucius Malfoy.

As a Junior Auror in the DMLE, Harry was well aware of the danger he was in whenever he stepped foot in the Ministry. A successful attack on his Occlumency shields could see him into a world of trouble.

However, Harry had been a Gryffindor for a damn good reason. If there was ever a time to stick his neck out and get something _done,_ it was now. His plan was to gather enough solid evidence to present to his superior, Director Amelia Bones. If she could be convinced of the truth, she would know what to do next. She was a good person, and Harry trusted her to make the right call.

Once that was settled, the investigation would be taken out of his hands and given to capable, high-level Aurors. This was fine by Harry. He wasn't stupid enough to think he could handle dismantling an entire corrupt government on his own. That kind of political bullshit required Slytherin thinking. It probably also required lots of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws to handle the granular details of such a huge task.

Either way, Harry's part—aka the Gryffindor part—was to be recklessly determined to seek justice no matter what kind of mortal peril he had to put himself in to get it done.

So far, he thought he was doing a pretty good job of it. Er, the seeking justice bit, not the reckless endangerment part. He had been very careful with the whole reckless endangerment thing this time around. He had even given himself a few pats on the back for his foresight. Hermione would be proud of him.

The main reason why Harry's common sense had been permitted to take a front seat was because messing up _this_ case would have actual, serious consequences. With corruption taking place at such a high level of government, making a mistake would not be a repeat of the time he had rushed into an altercation with an amateur dark wizard in Knockturn Alley. This was not going to result in him suffering some minor injury like breaking his arm. Making mistake here? That would result in his pitiful, bloody remains being sent to his parents in a plastic bag, probably accompanied by a note that had those little letters cut out from newsprint.

So Harry was being very careful and very paranoid. There was a Muggle saying that went something along the lines of 'slow and steady wins the race', and for once Harry was actively using that mindset. Even if he never caught a big break with this case, eventually he would have enough circumstantial evidence to present a solid, logical theory to Director Bones.

This plan—a very good, very solid plan—would have worked. If Harry had kept investigating, he would have gathered enough information to convince Amelia Bones that something was wrong. Harry already suspected at least two other Ministry Department Heads of being tucked into Lucius Malfoy's admittedly impressive coin pockets. Proving that a Department Head was corrupt would have been enough to open a full-blown investigation.

In the eyes of Director Bones, Harry Potter was a strong candidate for future promotion. He had inherited talents from father and mother both, and was dedicated to his morals in a way that few others were. Harry had been prepared to put his trust in her, and that trust was returned in kind. If Harry had come to her with evidence and a theory, she would have listened to him with an open mind.

Unfortunately for Harry, and perhaps to the detriment of magical Britain as a whole, on Sunday morning at 2:47 AM, someone broke into Harry's flat and kidnapped him.

* * *

**—Thursday, 11:42 AM**

When awareness returned to Harry, it was a slow, disorienting process. Harry did not jolt suddenly upright to see that he was chained to the wall and about to be tortured by some insane dark magic practitioner. He did not undo a bunch of rope knots with wandless magic and fight off three attackers at once like a blockbuster action hero.

What did happen was that Harry's senses were rudely assaulted by the sterile environment of a hospital. Or, in this case, not a hospital, but rather a very thorough attempt at the recreation of one.

Harry was not chained to the wall, but he was hooked up to an IV. He was not tied up with rope, but there was what looked to be a set of handcuffs that attached his left wrist to the metal rail of the bed he was resting in. It did not at all seem like he was about to be tortured, but his abdomen felt like it had been trampled by half a dozen horses and then given a solid kick from a really angry toddler for good measure.

Harry would have liked it if he could have figured all of that out immediately upon waking. As it was, all of that information had taken far too long to sink into what he was beginning to suspect was his horrifically drug-addled brain.

How long had he been out? What the fuck had happened to him? These were all very important questions that required seriously convincing answers.

"Good morning, Harry."

Several seconds passed before Harry managed to focus on the source of the voice: a man seated in a chair a few steps away from the bed. Without his glasses on, Harry could not make out any of the man's facial features. He was dark-haired, tall, and very likely British. For all of Harry's careful preparations, he had not thought to have his eyesight fixed despite the fact that his mother had been pestering him to do so for the past five years. This sucked.

Harry wanted to speak, but his mouth felt like several things had died in it. Not gross things, because his mouth did feel actually kind of clean, like someone had been taking regular Hygiene Charms to it, but enough dead things that his mouth and throat had gotten fed up with him and decided to take an extended vacation without notice.

"Would you like some water? I'll assume you can nod."

Harry nodded. A straw was brought to his mouth. Harry closed his lips around it and drank greedily. His stomach was the proud new owner of several large gulps of water by the time he realized that drinking water from a stranger after waking up handcuffed to a hospital bed was _not_ the smartest thing to do.

"Feeling better?" There was that same posh voice. Harry squinted in the direction of his minder, wondering just who exactly this man was and what his purpose was other than to offer water and sound posh.

Harry tried to speak, but what came out of his mouth was a cough, which was annoying. So he tried again, and this time he managed to croak out, "Yeah, thanks."

The man rose from his chair. Harry tensed, waiting for the shoe to drop. The man lifted a hand to Harry's face, causing Harry to flinch, but there was only the gentle pressure of fingertips against his chin. Harry held his breath as his glasses were put on his face. The cold metal was a shock, but it was not as much of a shock as regaining his ability to see.

At first, being able to see hurt. A majority of the room was white, sterile. The lights overhead were very bright. Slowly, Harry's eyes adjusted until he could gaze around the room without pain.

Now that his eyesight had returned, it was as though his other senses had also come back to him. Harry could hear the beep of a heart monitor in the background. He could feel the rough cotton of the hospital gown he was wearing, and he could smell the top notes of the cologne wafting off the man who had touched him.

"Where am I?" Harry asked cautiously. "What happened to me?"

The man's answering smile was pleasant—too pleasant to be authentic. Harry did not trust the look of this man: not his tailored suit, not his dark eyes, not the high cut of his angular cheekbones. This man had the look of a politician, only more dangerous. There was no reason for such a man to be by Harry's bedside unless it was to cause harm.

"Junior Auror Harry James Potter," recited the man. His smile was growing sharper by the second. "You work for the DMLE, which is currently led by Director Amelia Bones. You have been with the Aurors for five years—since you graduated Hogwarts, in fact. You have also been investigating your Minister, Cornelius Fudge, for corruption." A pause, followed by another charming smile. "Do I have your measure, Junior Auror Potter?"

Harry said nothing, but the stupid fucking heart monitor was going crazy, giving him away. He inhaled slowly, trying to relax. He was not in control of himself at his moment, he was disoriented and in pain. It was safer to say nothing, to give nothing away.

"Not what I asked," Harry said flatly, once he was certain his voice would hold steady.

"More water? No?" The man set the paper cup back down and lounged back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other. "You've nothing to worry about, Mr. Potter. I don't intend to harm you. If I wanted you dead, you would be. No, what I have for you is a proposition—a rather generous one, I must say."

"That sounds pretty much like a one-way ticket to getting fucked six ways from Sunday."

The man laughed. It was a rich, happy sound, no doubt intended to set stupider people than Harry at ease. Then the man shifted, bracing his forearms on his knees as he gazed very intently at Harry, as if to convey the sincerity of his intentions. "You are investigating your Ministry for corruption. I would like to help you."

"My Ministry," Harry said, confused. "What do you mean, 'my Ministry'?"

"What I mean," the man said, in tones of overt friendliness that belied the nonsense he was about to spew, "is that prior to our delightful, fortuitous meeting, I am what your people would have referred to as a 'Muggle'."


	2. It'll Grow Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom talks about handcuffs, contracts, and livers. Not necessarily in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what harry fails to understand is that so long as he continues to respond and play along, tom's brain is getting a fuckton of serotonin
> 
> harry: [insults insults insults]  
> tom's monkey brain: mmmmm attention

**—Thursday, 11:58 AM**

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Tom paused to gauge Auror Potter's expression. The question was vague, and there were numerous plausible interpretations of it. Was this a poor attempt at upholding the International Statute of Secrecy, or was it a genuine expression of confusion?

Either way, Tom was the one with the upper hand in this situation, and so he would be the one to decide how much information he wanted Auror Potter to have.

"Imagine my surprise," Tom began softly, "when I discovered a world parallel to my own. A world full of magic." He allowed his eyes to widen the slightest amount, a mockery of wonder playing across his features. "Lesser men would have called it madness, yet here I am." Tom spread his hands out, palms up, in a gesture meant to convey his sincerity. "Saner than most, surely, and a thousand times more powerful."

Auror Potter did not seem impressed by this, which was understandable. Perhaps to him, this was merely another case of a bemused Muggle wandering too far into the realm of the impossible. To Auror Potter, who worked in law enforcement, this was a case meant to be solved by a simple Memory Charm. This outlook would not last—very soon, Tom would be changing his mind.

"Now," Tom continued, "I have been told my reputation extends past the cultural boundaries that lay between our two worlds. If you would permit me my curiosity, Mr. Potter, it would please me to know if you've heard of me before."

Potter raised a skeptical brow. "Yeah? What's that? You steal mummy's jewelry and somehow delude yourself into thinking that made you a big bad criminal?"

A crude retort, but again: understandable. It would take time to convince this man to join him. Tom could be patient.

"You will know me as Voldemort," he said simply, and waited for the inevitable interesting response.

Responses to his identity tended to vary. Wide-eyed shock, wide-eyed horror. Expletives followed by renewed struggling. Tom had seen it all, and he would witness it several more times before the week was out. It was, he found, an excellent assessment of one's character. The additional detail of having his ego stroked in the process? That was but a minor benefit.

Potter, handcuffed to the bed rail and likely suffering the after-effects of being sedated for many days, offered _none_ of the expected responses. He did not tense, did not glower, did not shrink back in fear. He stared, not quite blankly, but in such an expressionless way that Tom was reluctantly impressed, and perhaps a bit miffed to boot.

"Right," Potter said. He shifted back on the bed, a flash of discomfort flickering across his face as the motion tugged at his abdomen. "So what is it that you want from me? Gold coins? Magic potions? Did you want me to conjure a hairless cat for you to pet while you give your evil monologue?"

"I daresay I've already taken what I need," Tom mused. He gave Potter's knee a light pat. Potter squinted at the spot where Tom's fingers had made contact, then scrunched his nose up like a tiny rambunctious guard dog as he glared in Tom's direction. It was a bit endearing, if Tom was being honest. The Sleeping Potions must not have worn off of Potter yet.

"As I mentioned," Tom said slowly, "what I propose is that I aid _you_ in your quest to dismantle your corrupt government."

"You have to realize how this sounds," Potter said, voice full of disbelief. "You have me handcuffed to the rail and attached to an IV drip full of Merlin-knows-what... Not to mention my side fucking hurts. I think I only haven't asked you what you've done because I'm genuinely concerned about the answer."

"You're alive, aren't you?" Tom said dismissively. "I'd advise against any sudden movements, however. I'm afraid that even with a wizard's accelerated rate of healing, you'll be feeling out of sorts for quite some time. My assistant was not nearly as generous with your dosage of healing potions as he was with mine."

"Someone sounds like a fucking asshole. Be sure to tell him I said that, by the way."

"If it reassures you, as a gesture of good will, I will release you from the handcuffs." Tom retrieved a copy of the key from his breast pocket and dangled it invitingly in front of him.

"How generous," Potter drawled, but he lifted his wrist up, pulling the chain connector taut.

Tom snatched the dangling key back into the palm of his hand and watched as Potter's jaw twitched with irritation. Now for the bait. "But before I do," Tom said, "I would like to remind you, Mr. Potter, that we are on the same side. If you cooperate with me, I will give you _everything_ you could possibly need to bring Cornelius Fudge and Lucius Malfoy to justice."

And there it was: the visible hesitation, the difficult choice between two evils. To save his people from a corrupt government, Potter would have to corrupt himself. That was only part of the fun, really. In the few days since Harry Potter had been captured and rushed to the manor, Tom's world had irrevocably changed.

This past Saturday, Potter would have posed a decent threat to Tom's operations—nothing unmanageable given Tom's connections and resources, but a threat nonetheless. Now it was Thursday, and Potter had morphed into a potential recruit, an ally. A shiny new tool to be applied in Tom's quest for the ultimate power rush—the power of _magic._

"Fine." Potter gave his wrist an impatient shake. "Uncuff me and prove to me you have what you say you do. Then we can talk terms."

The easy response; the expected response. Regardless of how Potter truly felt about his offer, it only made sense for him to agree and have the shackle removed. Tom's promise of the Ministry's glorious reckoning would be the golden thread holding Potter's hotheaded escape attempt at bay.

Tom reached for Potter's wrist, grasping it delicately in his left hand as he adjusted the cuff with his right. "Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself any further, now would we?" Tom murmured as he slid the key into its lock, twisting it with slowness.

The lock clicked, and Potter yanked his hand back—too soon, judging by the way his hand jerked within the half-open metal cuff. "I warned you," Tom said, too amused to keep the smugness from his voice.

Potter glared at him.

Oh, it was too _easy_ to rile this one up. An angry red flush was working its way up Potter's cheeks like the rising tide. Tom could hardly help himself with what he said next.

"I see," Tom said thoughtfully. He pursed his lips, drawing the pause out. "Since you like to play, I'll be certain to use the leather ones next time," he finished, offering Potter a cheeky wink.

"Am _I_ the one doped up on drugs?" Potter asked incredulously. "Or wait, maybe it is me and I’ve hallucinated you saying that to me like it’s perfectly normal."

"As much as your acerbic wit amuses me, I'm afraid it does tend to bore eventually," Tom replied. He tossed the handcuffs into a drawer, shut the drawer, then placed the key into his pocket and sat back down. He kept his motions casual, unbothered, but truthfully this was only so he would not accidentally aggravate his own injuries.

Severus had advised him against engaging in strenuous activities so soon after his surgery, but Tom was not one to lie about when there was work to be done. Potter's loyalty, or at least grudging compliance, was a priority.

"I could say the same about your charm," Potter said, smiling. "Or lack thereof."

"Ouch." Tom held a hand to his heart. "And here I was under the impression we were on our way to becoming friends."

"We'd be closer to friends if you stopped fucking about and showed me something worth my time."

"If we are to work together," Tom said disapprovingly, "a firm rapport will do wonders for our teamwork, wouldn't you agree?" He retrieved a folder from where he'd left it on the side table, too far back for Potter to spot without craning his neck at a painful angle. "This is but a small sample of what I can offer you, should you choose to align yourself with me."

The folder passed from Tom's hand to Potter's. Potter opened the folder up and began reading. Tom had expected him to flick through, to skim the pages, picking and choosing which parts to read in detail. But no, Potter was reading from the start, one line at a time, going through each page in order. Did Potter have a habit of thoroughness? Or was he taking Tom's offer more seriously than he had implied?

Fifteen minutes later, Potter shut the folder, a grim expression on his face. "Most of this would be useless in front of the Wizengamot," Potter said flatly. "The idea of a Muggle, any Muggle, testifying against Lucius Malfoy would be laughed out of the courtroom, and the rest of what you have here remains circumstantial at best. Is this all you have?"

"Of course not." Tom scoffed. "This is only to prove to you that I will be able to provide you with further information, and given enough time and direction, enough evidence for criminal charges."

"So this is all you have right now?" Potter repeated, brows raised.

"Did I thieve your brains as well as your liver?" Tom asked mockingly. "I said that this was only a sample. I'd be a fool to give you anything of value before we set terms. Provoking me won't work, Mr. Potter. I don't make mistakes."

"My—" Potter shook his head. "My fucking _what?"_ He looked down at himself. "You took my fucking liver? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"You were convenient.”

Potter stared at him. Tom smiled in response. He felt very satisfied that he had flabbergasted Potter into speechlessness.

"Sure," Potter said. "That absolutely answers everything."

Tom gave a little hum. "So do we have a deal? Your cooperation in exchange for information."

Potter held up a hand. "Just so we're both on the same page, 'cooperation' does _not_ mean I wake up in five days with my kidney missing?"

"Gentleman's honour," Tom promised. Then another thought occurred to him. "Unless, of course, I manage to steal your heart—"

"Oh, fuck _off—"_

"—I have been told it has happened before. More than once, actually."

Potter took several deep breaths, ostensibly to calm himself. When his gaze met Tom's once more, it was much more composed. "How long has it been? Since you... _kidnapped_ me." The way Potter emphasized the word ‘kidnapped’ implied a heavy amount of distaste. 

"Five days, approximately. I was told you were abducted some time early Sunday morning."

"You were _told,"_ Potter repeated.

"I don't make it a habit to know where all my employees are at any given moment of the day," Tom remarked. A lie. For the employees that mattered, he kept them on a tight schedule.

Potter watched him for a moment longer, gears turning in his head. Tom would see the metaphorical pieces sliding together right in front of his eyes, and he was rewarded for his patience with a delightful shriek of outrage as Potter jabbed an offending finger in his direction.

"You didn't just fucking take it," Potter said in incredulity, "you _have_ it! You took a bit of my liver and—fucking hell, that's disgusting. How are you even upright? Five days? What the bloody— _you_ should be the one in a hospital bed, not me!"

"Oh? And why might that be?"

Potter faltered, his indignation now diluted with uncertainty. "Wizards heal faster than Muggles do. The reason why it took me this long to wake, I assume, is because you pumped me with drugs." He folded his arms over his chest. "So, yeah, _you_ should be the one hooked up to IV fluids and wearing an arseless hospital gown, not me."

"And yet here we are," Tom said, gesturing to their respective positions. The intended emphasis being that Potter was in a hospital bed and he was not. "Wonderful how life seems to work out in ways you least expect it to."

Judging by Potter's face, he did not agree with that sentiment.

Tom gave Potter's recently-freed hand a condescending pat. "Rest up," he encouraged. "I have business to attend to, of course, but I will return shortly so we can discuss the details of our agreement. Shall we say in a day or two?"

"A day or two?" Potter demanded. "Do you expect me to do nothing while you're gallivanting about committing crimes?"

"I expect you to _rest,"_ Tom said. "So yes, I expect you to do nothing. You're of no use to anyone while you're in this state. I have instructed my men to protect you in my absence. You will be safe here until I return."

Potter sat up. He looked about two seconds away from yanking the IV from his arm and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, arseless hospital gown be damned. "I don't need protection. Where's my wand?"

"I have confiscated it for the time being. You'll have it returned to you once I am assured you won't use it against me."

"I won't use it against you," Potter said impatiently. "But I can protect myself just fine, thanks. Definitely better than any of your goons with guns can. I'm not about to sit around in the middle of a drug den, or wherever we are, with nothing to protect myself!"

Tom rubbed at his temple. "Nothing will happen to you," he said, exasperated. "This is not a _drug den,_ as you so crudely put it. We are at my private estate. You are resting in the room that is used for my personal medical treatment. You are safer here than you were at your shoddy flat, certainly."

"Ha, ha," Potter deadpanned. "Because you kidnapped me from my flat. Hilarious."

Tom smiled blandly. "So we are in agreement that you are far safer here?"

"No, we are not! Who knows what kind of lunatics you have after you—"

"As charming as this conversation is," Tom interjected, "I'm afraid you have little say in the matter. You may rest here by choice, or I can sedate you until I deem your recovery to have reached an appropriate stage." At this point, Potter opened his mouth to interrupt, so Tom continued at a higher volume, "Of course, you are free to decline my offer, leave this place, and be deposited at the location of your choice following the Obliviation of your recent memories."

There was a stretch of silence as Potter fisted his hands in the bedding. No doubt he was frustrated by his lack of options. It was unfortunate that Tom had to coerce rather than convince, but for two such as them, it was only inevitable. Potter was a man of the law; to earn his willing cooperation would require more than just the shiny bait of Malfoy's demise. For now, Tom would settle for using manipulations and threats. Eventually, Potter would be his by choice.

"I shall leave you to it, then," Tom said. He stood from his chair and smoothed his suit jacket, buttoning it swiftly. "Should you require assistance or a means to contact me, there is a push button located to your right. Someone will come when called." He paused, considering his final words. "I will return in two days' time, if not sooner. I do hope you will consider your choices wisely, Mr. Potter. I would very much like to aid you. With our talents combined, we would make a most formidable pair. My resources and manpower, your connections and in-depth understanding of your Ministry and the magical world."

Potter frowned, seeming to struggle with himself for a moment. Then he said in a defeated tone, "I still don't understand how you know so much. About my world, that is. You talk about healing potions, you know about wands and the Ministry for Magic. Are you a squib?"

"I am what I am, Mr. Potter,” said Tom evenly as he walked to the door. “Should you agree to work with me, I will provide the explanation you so clearly desire. For now, I bid you farewell." Tom stopped in the doorway, and turned to face Potter one last time. "Do take care of yourself. From personal experience, I can tell you that the recovery period is _quite_ taxing."

Potter's face contorted into an expression that was a lovely mix of fury and indignation. Tom permitted himself a low chuckle as he passed out into the hall and shut the door behind him.

"Sir?"

Severus was standing in the hall, his sallow face devoid of emotion, as per usual. Severus was his private physician, one of few magical Healers who knew how to treat Muggles and Muggle ailments with magical methods. It was a difficult task since most types of magic did not work on Muggles.

The types of magic that _did_ work on Muggles were a risk all on their own, but Severus was a man of science as well as magic, a pioneer in his area of expertise. In the ten years since his hiring, Severus had developed various healing potions that were safe for Muggle consumption. These potions were not as powerful as their magical counterparts, but for Tom's operations, they served their purpose. His men (and their families) were grateful for them.

"He is awake, lucid, not in any obvious pain," Tom said. "You may see to him now if you like, but I'd advise you to wait a few minutes before you head in. It will allow him time to... regain some perspective." This was a polite way of saying 'let him calm down because I've needled him into anger'.

"Of course, sir. Will that be all?"

Tom knew the man had some personal interest in keeping Potter alive; an age-old infatuation with Potter's mother, of all things. It was sufficient reason for Tom to be assured of his physician's loyalty. Not that he distrusted Severus—the man had come highly recommended and proven his worth ten-fold since then—but there was no such thing as too much paranoia in this business.

"What do you know about him?" Tom asked. "You knew his parents, did you not? What were they like?"

"I attended school with them. His mother was very talented with Charms. His father was a reckless fool who also worked in law enforcement before he accepted a lucrative offer and moved to the Department of International Magical Cooperation. It was assumed he did so because his wife was pregnant with child at the time. Once she gave birth, it would have been hazardous for him to continue with such a dangerous career path."

So Potter had chosen to follow in his father’s footsteps. "Keep a close eye on him," Tom instructed. "I have the feeling he's more intelligent than you may think."

"Yes, sir." There was a flicker of doubt in Severus' eyes. Did he not think Potter capable?

Regardless of how he felt, Severus would do as he was told or else there would be consequences. "I want Barty here as well, come to think of it. He will be put in charge of the manor's security until I return. Be prepared for his arrival and inform him of Auror Potter's condition at regular intervals."

Severus nodded once, but the motion was hesitant. Tom waited for the man to speak, and was therefore unsurprised when Severus asked in a careful tone, "Is the boy of such importance, sir?"

"He matters," Tom said flatly. "How and why he matters is no concern of yours."

"If you require expertise on the magical world, then I am more than capable—"

Tom was not in the mood for listening to the man’s simpering. "I have ten years' worth of knowledge on your capabilities, Severus." Enough to destroy the man both publicly and privately, if he felt like it. "Do not question my methods, do not presume to know what I want. If I require a service from you, I will ask for it."

Severus' neutral mask fell back into place. "Of course. Forgive me my impertinence." 

Ah, there was the professionalism that Tom had almost grown fond of over the years. Tom considered his physician for a moment. Severus was not typically this irritating. His misstep must be related to some emotions related to his childhood memories of Potter's parents, memories now brought to the surface because of Potter's presence in the manor.

"You will treat Potter to the best of your abilities. When I return, I expect him to be at full health, physically prepared to do a little monkey dance if I ask it of him. Do I make myself very clear?"

"Yes, sir."

Tom smiled, allowed himself a slow exhale to release the tension in his shoulders. "Wonderful. Now, do you have what I requested?"

"I have left the appropriate potions in your office along with instructions for their consumption."

"Excellent." Tom paused to recollect his thoughts. This was a dangerous game he planned to undertake, and while he trusted Severus not to poison him, he was not so certain he trusted the man not to betray him in the long term.

"Do you require anything else?" Severus asked. Though his voice was calm, Tom could detect a current of curiosity running through it.

"No. That will be all for now. Thank you, Severus."

Severus nodded a final time, now dismissed. Tom departed from the hallway and headed for his office. The rush of the past few days was fading, and in its place was a different sort of eagerness. The world he had believed to be out of his reach was now tantalizingly close. It was only a matter of making the correct moves, seizing the chess pieces that would carry him to victory.

Harry Potter would be one of those pieces. A man driven by morals, by a desire to seek justice upon his corrupt government. Potter would serve as Tom's guide throughout all this, a reliable vehicle to hasten Tom's journey into the realm of magic.

Because Tom could not trust Severus fully. He could not trust many of his current magical contacts to be loyal to him and him alone. Potter was important because his loyalty could not be bought. This gave Tom control, and control was what he required at this point in time.

In two days, he would return here to seal his contract with Potter. For now, he had a job to do. The direction of his organization had just taken a very sharp turn, and his men would require new instructions going forward.

Tom considered himself to be a man of high caliber. All that he did had purpose; there was no place in his ranks for senseless violence and murder. His workers were skilled, efficient, intelligent. His operations were undetectable unless he wished for them to be known—rarely were there loose ends or messy crime scenes for the police to peruse.

Much of this had been made possible due to his connections in the magical world. How easy it was to cover his tracks when evidence could be vanished and enemies could be made to forget he existed. Bodies could be transfigured into rocks, knives could be conjured from nothing, packets of illegal substances could be shrunk to the size of a thumb drive.

Now those options were no longer available to him. At least, they were no longer available to him in the same capacity that they had been before, and they were certainly not at his disposal for his latest plan of action.

He had grown complacent. It was upsetting for him to accept this, but on some level, he had always known that his reliance on external aid was unsustainable. Power was his weakness, and whether that was power he possessed or power he envied was negligible. Once the existence of magic had been known to him, he had grown obsessed with it, with every facet of it. He had sworn to use it for himself no matter the cost. Even though he could not practice magic, he would use it to further his empire.

For ten years, this method had worked well for him. He had become the most powerful criminal in all of Europe, if not the world. Tom had been content with this. The magical world had been out of reach, but _his_ world had remained under his control.

However, he now had the opportunity to free himself from the shackle of the mundane. Through a truly miraculous stroke of luck, his unrealized dreams had been given new life. No longer would he depend on lesser men to support his goals. No longer would he live in paranoia of his own associates turning on him. The whole world was his for the taking. Soon, he would eradicate anyone who dared stepped in his way, magic user or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tom steals your liver and then he steals your heart. what a man. i have more jokes but they're all inappropriate and about dicks so i think i'll save them for later 

**Author's Note:**

> find me & my writing updates on tumblr [here](https://duplicitywrites.tumblr.com)!
> 
> feel free to join my personal discord server for my writing (and where i livewrite things sometimes) [here](https://discord.gg/BJRP4A5)!


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